Hatred
by Novi Zemog
Summary: I hated him because I knew he was right, he hated me because I put my fists down... Years pass and things change, people change. See from the eyes of a stranger through a series of drabbles that grow into full chapters of how Sherlock grows from a creepy young boy to the consulting detective we all love so much.
1. Eight Years Old

**_I hated him because I knew he was right, he hated me because I put my fists down._**

The first time we saw each other, we were eight. We had the same class and he sat right behind me. I could feel his eyes travel the room, and when they settled on me a chill tickled my spine. His eyes were wide, an electric blue colour that seemed to look through everything. And when my mud brown eyes connected with his across the schoolyard I knew that included me. His eyes never lingered on anything, once the object was dissected it became useless I suppose. He never spoke a word to me, so that made me one of the lucky ones. No one really liked him but if someone tried to bully him the boy had no problems with making you cry. He never laid a hand on anyone. All he had to do was speak.


	2. Never Knew

I remember hearing his voice for the first time. His name had been called for role and the simple "Here." he gave carried such ice I could almost feel a frosty breeze coming from him. No kid should ever sound like that. No kid should have eyes like his. Thankfully we didn't share any classes beyond that year, and eventually I moved away when I was ten. The boy with the electric blue eyes was far from my mid. I was more worried about living on the streets then. My mother assured me that we would be fine. It was the first time I realized my mother could be wrong.

I never knew cold or hunger before then. I never knew fear like I had experienced. Nights were spent in the shelters, if we could get there early enough. Eventually my mother decided my sister would be safer with someone else, so we found a church open sat her in the pews and left. My mother had dragged me out hollering and screaming to go back but we never did. Later that night when I asked my mum why we left her there, she said it was because they would find a family to adopt her. And when I asked why I wouldn't be given up for adoption, mum said I was too old to be wanted by someone else. I never felt pain before, not like this.


	3. Beggars in the Library

It was two years after I my world had been shattered. Winter had reared it's frosty head once again and I had been hiding out in a public library. The neighborhood was rich and the library might has well have been a mansion. I managed to tuck myself away into a section I had assumed was often ignored. They were morbid books about poisons and things found in nature that could kill you. Wedged between sections of medicine and deadly animals, it was dark and silent. Just my breathing as I teetered on the edge of sleep. I didn't notice the shadow that loomed over me, or the eyes that studied my being as I huddled on the floor with a book in hand, to make it seem like I had been reading. My eyes finally fell closed and I slept for the first time in what felt like a week, completely unaware of the eyes and the shadow.

I would later learn to regret letting my guard down, but at the moment I was oblivious. I felt safe almost anywhere that wasn't a shelter, strangely enough I don't know why the streets seemed safer even though they struck terror into my young heart. It always smelled and my mother cried at night, so I could never get any sleep. Sometimes we would sleep in the underground if the shelters were full. People would give us money from time to time, we usually spent it on a cheap meal and if we had enough we would wash our clothes. I must have been a sad sight, long tangled hair, dark marks under my eyes and ratty clothing. Like a child from Oliver Twist, begging for scraps because it felt like my stomach was tearing itself apart.


	4. The Act of Silence

I continued to return to that library, hiding on the second floor. I lingered in the shadows of forgotten book shelves, hoping to remain unseen and forgotten. I was still unaware of the eyes that followed me with such precision. I would stay there for hours hoping to be locked in one night so I would have to worry about going back. Though I knew mother would worry for me, if she realized I was gone. Though something inside of me didn't think she would, at first. My mother would just spend hours staring ahead, a glassy look to her eyes that I hoped weren't drugs. I'd seen the addicts, driven to the streets because their lives were consumed. I wouldn't be too hard to think she wanted an escape. Hopping from shelter to shelter, trying and failing to find a decent job. At twelve, you shouldn't know these things.

But alas my hopes were just fantasy, the librarian made a round that was uncommon for her and discovered me on the floor reading an oddly fascinating book on flesh eating bacteria. I was beginning to think she suspected me, but her pity was enough to not say anything. She gently escorted me out and told me the library was closing. So without much else to do, I wandered. Most overlooked me, my poor state seemed to make me invisible to them. As if not looking at me somehow made me unreal. But I think I preferred it when the alternative was a dirty hand dragging me into an alley way. "How about I give you a way to earn some money?", his voice stunk of stale alcohol and I tried to pull myself away. "Now, now, love; I'm offerin' ta pay, I could always take what I want an' leave ya know?" he said with a growl. I froze and he took the opportunity to pin me against a wall, and I still hadn't seen his face. I could feel the cold brick pressing against my face and him pressed against my back. "Thassit now, just be quiet and it'll be over soon."


	5. See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

**Trigger Warning: This chapter contains the attempted of sexual assault of a minor and violence. Feel free to leave right now. You have been warned.**

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A hand began tugging on my clothes and a muffled sob escaped as I pressed my mouth against the wall to silence myself. I didn't know how dangerous he was, did he have a weapon? What was there to stop him from stabbing me if I screamed? Who would come to my rescue? I was a forgotten child. No one wanted me, not my father, not my mother, not anyone. Tears began running down my face, the tracks stinging as a chilly gust rolled by. I felt his cold, dirty hand go under my shirt and touch my back, his other hand too busy with pinning me to a brick wall by the back of my neck. "Smooth." he purred into my ear, before licking what part of my neck that was bare to him. And before I could actually scream out in actual terror, he had been tackled. Granted this had knocked me down as well but I was happy to be out of his grasp.

I pulled myself from the ground and fixed my clothes before turning to see my saviour. It was a boy, much taller than myself with dark curly hair and pale skin. He stood over my unconscious attacker and seemed to study him before turning to me. His eyes held me still, freezing me from the inside out. Before I could even think to utter a thank you, he left. Once I got over my frozen state I walked over to the unconscious man. I rifled through his clothing until I found his wallet. He had a box-cutter and only twelve pounds on him. I felt such disgust and outrage that I kicked the man's limp form. It didn't feel like enough, so I kicked him again, and again, and again, and again. I kicked his ribs, his head, and his groin. I didn't care that he stirred or that I may have knocked him out with several blows to the head. Eventually my rage grew to the point where I picked up a random glass bottle and smashed it over his head. I took his wallet, the neck of the bottle that I used as a handle and fled. It wasn't until later in the week I found out the man had been discovered dead in that alleyway, blunt force trauma as the cause of death. There had been no witness to his crime, or mine.


	6. Sandwich Girl

I had kept the box-cutter with me since the attack. I tried not to think about it too much, but at the same time I would not let myself become comfortable. Life had not changed much, I still went to the library and met the sandwich girl on Tuesdays. It was a relatively new addition to my schedule but certainly a welcome one. It had happened a week after my attack. I was watching the children as they played in the schoolyard wondering what it would be like to be like them again. To sit in class and answer questions right, to play in the schoolyard with friends. Then come home to mother and have her give me sliced apples, telling me to be quite cause my sister was down for a nap and my dad would be home soon. But that wasn't my life anymore, it was their lives, I continued watching them, indulging what ifs. And it was in this process of deep thought I met the sandwich girl. "Hi." she said softly to my right, Immediately I jumped and moved far away from the fence. The girl stood there looking apologetic and a bit frightened herself.

She had light brown hair clipped back with plastic butterfly barrettes and wore a soft pink jumper with a kitten on it. "I- I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to know if you're hungry?" she asked timidly, looking down at her shoes. They were well kept and I could see white frilly socks peeking around her ankles. I looked up at her with suspicious eyes, not sure if I should reply. I really was hungry, but what else could I be. It was obvious what I was, the large tattered brown coat, the too big pants and man;s shirt. The bottom of my shoes were beginning to fall off and I wasn't sure if I was wearing real sock or cloth I wrapped around my feet. Before I could really decide on answering her a sandwich seemed to materialize in her hand. it was in a bag and looked like the most delicious thing I'd ever seen. "Cause if you were, I could give you this. It's turkey but I'm not hungry. Would you like it?" she prodded, almost as if she were afraid of offending me. Despite the fact it could have all been a cruel joke I found myself nodding rapidly, as if I did not answer her right away, she would take her offer back and give the sandwich to another homeless kid. She gave me a warm smile and tossed the bag over the fence. I caught it with ease and began consuming the morsel as though it would be my last meal, and it would be, for some time at least.

She said her name was Molly, and I think she wanted me to give her my name in return, I was too busy with my food to respond and then a voice began calling all the children back into the building and the girl had to leave. I knew her name was Molly, but to me she was Sandwich girl. It wasn't a mocking name, if anything I thought of her as Sandwich girl with the most reverence possible. I showed up every Tuesday, and every Tuesday I would get a sandwich, or what ever she had brought to eat that day. I still hadn't told her my name, and she never really asked so I didn't feel the need to. In fact she never asked anything of me. She would just talk to me, with her soft voice. She'd tell me about her dad, and her dog Comet. She would talk about how she loved Comet, but had always wanted a cat. She said she couldn't get one because her mother was allergic. I would just sit, my back against the fence and listen. Forgetting my life and reveling in hers.


	7. A Stray Named Toby

I eventually began coming more often, almost everyday, and though Tuesday was sandwich day she always had something for me to eat. It was usually carrot sticks or fruit and sometimes cookies that had been baked by her mother. They tasted delicious and I always felt a pang of sadness when they made me think of how my mother used to bake. But my mother didn't bake any more, she just stared ahead, like she couldn't see me. And when I would wake up at the shelter, she would be gone from our cot. But when I was with Molly I didn't think about it much. My life began to seem like a bad dream when I heard her speak about her life. I began to feel more comfortable around her, and every time I came I let her sit a little closer than before. And that was how we spent our time, her talking and me eating, both on our respective sides of the fence. But I knew it was more than the fence that separated us, more than I could ever explain. I didn't like to linger on it when I was with her, afraid my anger would poison this paradise I seemed to have lucked into.

So I listened to her story, about how Comet rifled through the trash and then hid under her bed from her dad. The story eventually faded into background noise and my mind began to wander again, I never noticed when she stopped talking. But I definitely did notice when she spoke again. "Toby are you-" she began before slapping a hand over her mouth when she finally realized what she said. My head whipped to the left and I stared at her with wide eyes.

"Toby?" I asked, confused and a bit worried. I had never given her my name, where on earth had she gotten Toby from? Molly gave me an apologetic look and removed her hand from her mouth slowly before speaking.

"Uhm...yeah. On the day we first met you never gave your name, and I couldn't very well call you 'that kid' now could I? So I gave you a name, I thought the name Toby just suits you." she explained. her cheeks flushed red and her head bowed. Had the plastic butterfly clips not been in her hair that day I probably wouldn't have seen her expression. She looked scared. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I didn't like the idea of Molly being upset, she wasn't supposed to get upset. She had a mom, a dad and a dog named Comet. She needed to smile. It was with the need to make her smile again that made me speak for a second time.

"Thank you. I like the name." I said, hoping to ease her worries. I was willing to say anything at that point, if it would make the bad feelings associated with Molly being upset go away. She was too much like my little sister, I felt like if I didn't do something for her it would be like leaving my sister behind in that church all over again. Molly looked up at me, cheeks still red but a smile on her face and suddenly the pressure in my stomach seemed to leave. I didn't like my old name anyway. I could get used to being Toby.

After we got over the whole name thing Molly began telling, more stories about her life and I found myself asking her questions about her family. I asked her what her parents were like, and if they knew about the food she was giving me. Molly said her parents were nice but admitted they didn't know about me, she was afraid they might make her stop seeing me. I was relieved to know she hadn't told anyone. I was afraid they might take me away from my mother, and I would be alone. The idea of losing the last of my family was indescribably frightening.


	8. Hatred

That day, the day I became Tobi, I returned to the shelter and my mother wasn't there. I spent the night at our cot, waiting for her to return, and she didn't come back that morning. I never found out where she went or why she left. I was now well and truly alone. I wondered what would happen to me, I had no one anymore. That morning I allowed myself to cry, though I promised I wouldn't for my mother's sake. Now that she was gone, I didn't have to be so strong. So I hid myself away and let myself break apart. Hiccuped sobbs, red eyes and snot I had myself a good ol' fashioned cry. By the end of my much needed release I felt boneless and worn but couldn't bare to stay where I was. I needed to change locations, or risk being stuck in a place that would lead me down a place that felt cold and terrifying. A place my mother probably had been.

So I ran to the library, I physically ran. When I got there, I ran into someone. There was a tangling of limbs as we fell to the ground and I heard a male voice curse. When i opened my eyes again I was staring straight into electric blue eyes I had only seen twice in my life, once when I was eight and once when I was saved. I don't know why I had to crash into him before I noticed who he was, I didn't know his name but I certainly remembered his eyes. You couldn't forget eyes like those. I felt trapped in my body, afraid to even breathe. I kept hoping he would break eye contact, so I could move again and escape those eyes. He never looked away, even as his face turned into a sneer and he hissed "Get off!" His voice was sharp like a blade and I found myself scrambling to get away. When our bodies were separated I turned a glare to him. The look on his face spoke volumes. As though I had broken a great law for daring to make physical contact with him. A swell of anger rose in my chest and I cowled.

"What is your problem? Quit your staring!" I asked harshly. The boy just scoffed and rolled his eyes muttering under his breathe. I stood up straighter and pushed my shoulders back, my face twisting in anger. "What did you say?" I questioned. He just rolled his eyes again and refused to answer me. I curled my hands into fists, only slightly hindered by the worn gloves that hardly protected them from the cold. "Come on, say it!" I challenged. Then he looked straight at me again, his eyes frosted and glittering with cold fury.

"I said that they're not coming back, your parents. They won't be coming back to get you from whatever shelter they left you at. Oh but you knew that already didn't you. They'd been neglecting you. Letting you pick your own clothes from the donation bins, because they were too busy with something else. Oh, wait. It was your mother isn't it. She left you." he said as though he were talking casually about the weather or school work, not piecing together my life and tearing it apart before my eyes. The rage became too much and I took a swing at him and he dodged. "So where's your father?" he asked tauntingly. I tried not to flinch but from the cruel twitch of his lips I knew I hadn't done a good enough job. "He abandoned you all. Left you to fend for yourselves and is probably warm and cozy with his new family. Probably doesn't think about you much." This time I tried to tackle him and succeeded. I straddled him and was about begin punching him when and fist pushed itself under my jaw. The force sent me to backwards and I tried to move away from him so he wouldn't get me twice. I had my fists raised, ready to fight again but he never swung at me.

"You lash out because you know all of this and yet you try to deny it. You knew that they didn't care and yet you lied to yourself didn't you? Oh maybe if I stayed out of her way Mummy would love me again! But you knew, when she would feed you or clothe you. And when she left you behind I am sure you weren't surprised. That you could be so easily forgotten, so easily tossed aside. Like trash." he sneered at me, something in his voice that hissed malice and loathing. And I felt it too, sludging through my veins. It made my vision blur and my cheeks like flame. I felt so much loathing inside of me it made me weak. And I knew he could feel it too, curling its dark fingers around his heart, the hatred. I hated him because I knew he was right, he hated me because I put my fists down.

His eyes widened at my gesture of surrender and seemed to choke on his next words. "W-well?! Aren't you going to come at me?" he inquired, almost as though he was desperate for me, for anyone to lash out at him. But I just felt everything inside me break all at once. I had considered myself lucky when he didn't speak to me,somewhere inside I still wondered what talking to him would be like. I wasn't surprised it would be like this. I wasn't surprised she abandoned me. I wasn't surprised I was trash. I was surprised when I started crying right in front of the library and the boy with electric blue eyes looked like he might cry as well.


End file.
